


And in the Face of Ignorance and Resistance

by waterloggedroots



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Cheating, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, Just lots of Angst, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Marquis de Lafayette, PTSD John, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Self-Worth Issues, Swearing, Unreliable Narrator, and i'm not completely happy with the writing but eh, i played around with laf's accent bc why not, i'm bad at summaries/tagging, i've never ever been in a relationship so this is likely to be a bit inaccurate, jeffmads and mullette are subtly implied, sort of happy ending i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 01:22:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14177520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterloggedroots/pseuds/waterloggedroots
Summary: Alex isn't by any means a perfect being, and he's had his fair share of screw-ups and predicaments, but this time John's the one caught in the crossfire.[In which Alexander is an asshole and he doesn’t always think about the consequences of his actions, but he's not intentionally a shithead and when push comes to shove he really does mean well. And poor John probably needs, like, ten hugs. (They probably both do tbh)]





	1. Words Aren't Enough

**Author's Note:**

> So, to try and sum it up, this was inspired by a scene that happened in some random Christmas movie that was on tv (I started writing this in November, oops). I got distracted and don't really know what happened, but basically, the girl was seeing a guy, and in this particular scene he confronted her about her sleeping with another guy, and I was like "story prompt!" and thus this was born.
> 
> TL;DR I got the cheating prompt from a movie, and it was a Christmas movie, hence the winter setting. Title is obvs from the musical bc i'm unoriginal and suck at coming up with titles. Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy, feedback is greatly appreciated!
> 
>  
> 
> ~~I’ve never dated anyone ever can you tell~~

"John, please!" Alex calls out after John as he leaves the shop, pushing the door open and running out into the snow after him. His heaving breath billows in the bitterly cold winter air, making him miss the cozy warmth of the cute little coffee shop, but he might as well relinquish his place in John's life if he's going to just watch him run away into the cold. No, not without trying to fix this.

 _"So you're off fucking some other girl or guy or_ whatever _, and that's the only thing you can think to say for yourself?_ Seriously _, Alexander?"_

He pushes harder to keep up with the curly, dark-haired brunet, his stiff joints protesting against the sudden strenuous activity in such frigid temperatures. John's at least a hundred meters into the snow before he finally stops, his back to Alex, shoulders rising and falling with every breath.

"John..." Alex tries, wheezing to catch his breath, still breathing hard from the run, but there's no response from the man in front of him. He reaches out to gently grasp his shoulder, fully intent on trying to reconcile with him or at least attempt to explain himself (though there's really nothing to explain short of petty excuses), but worry sidetracks him when he notices the thin jacket John's clad in.

"John, you're going to catch cold out here—"

"Get the fuck off of me!" He whirls around and slaps Alex's hand away, the sudden action startling him. John turns, breathing hard, something akin to anger or grief sparkling in his eyes.

"And don't try to fucking change the subject," he seethes, "stop trying to cover up what you did."

Alex's hand still hangs somewhere between clutched to his own chest and stretched out toward John. "John, I—"

"How the hell do you expect me to be okay, 'Lex, when you're off fucking someone else?" Tears are starting to bubble in his eyes. "How many other people are you running off with, then? Do you even fucking _care?_ Or am I just another _fuck toy_ to you?"

"John, you know I—" He reaches out for John's hand, but it's quickly yanked out of his grasp as if his fingertips were a searing flame, as if the simple touch had scalded him. "You... you _know_ I care. You know I do, really..."

" _Do I_ , Alex?!" he yells. "'Cuz right now, I'm having a hard time believing it."

It hurts like someone had stuck a knife into his chest when John looks at him, hot tears streaking down his cheeks. "...I fucked up," Alex mutters, looking down to avoid John's eyes, feeling his own burn.

"Yeah, you did. You really did," he shoots back weakly, his voice bitter and hoarse.

Alex is quiet for a few moments, not knowing how to proceed; his hand instinctively reaches out again, but he quickly withdraws it before it can reach its destination, recalling John's previous reactions to his touch. "John, I can... I can make it up to you. I-I can be better, I can—"

"Alex, _stop._ "

Alex's speech screeches to a halt, the words seeming to freeze in midair, seeming to freeze in his brain like someone had flipped a power switch.

"I... I need space."

With that single uttered phrase, Alex's brain seems to power up again. He starts backpedaling, desperately searching for something he can say to make things better. "No, wait, John, if I can just—"

John snaps.

"I NEED _SPACE_ , ALEX! _PLEASE!_ " he chokes out, hands clenched into fists. He takes a few seconds to turn his head away and close his eyes, trying to push back his tears. "If you really want to do something for me, you _need_ to give this to me. I don’t care where you go, I just— I _need_ to be by myself. _Please_."

Instead of waiting for a reply from Alex, John spins around on his heel, breathing hard, speed-walking toward the parking lot as he trudges through the snow drifts. Alex, stunned, takes a few seconds to process what just happened before his legs start moving of their own accord, chasing after John. The headlights flash briefly, and John wraps his fingers around the handle, ready to open the door and climb in.

Words spill unbidden from his mouth, knowing at this point that every syllable is just digging himself deeper into the pit he's created, but desperation and mild panic have taken over. "John, please, just hear me out. We just need to talk about this, i-if we talk all this out, I can—"

John cuts him off, looking him in the eye as he turns back around, face streaked with tears. "Y'know what your biggest fault is, Alex? You never know how to shut your _fucking_ mouth when it matters."

Alex opens his mouth to reply, but closes it again, John beating him to the punch as his words get stuck in his throat.

"Alex, just—" He takes a deep, shuddering breath. "...Just, _please_. Let me _go_."

Before Alex can get a word in edgewise, before he can think of a way to stop John (and really, why is he still trying, when John has every right to walk away?), he slams the car door shut in Alex's face, setting the key in the ignition. The car roars to life, and John pulls out of the parking spot, Alex barely ducking out of the way in time to avoid getting hit by the mirror. The tires spin for a moment on the slippery asphalt before gaining traction, and John drives away, leaving Alex alone in the bitter cold, staring at the car becoming smaller and smaller as he slowly goes numb.


	2. It Comes Back Around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with another update! Apologies for the short chapter, but I wanted to explore a small interaction between Laf and Alex and it wouldn't really fit anywhere else, so here it is! It also kinda works as a transition between Chapter 1 and 3, too, since it takes place at least a few weeks after the events of chapter 1, and it happens just before Alex goes over to John's place. I'm still working on chapter 3, but I should hope to have it out by next week!
> 
> Note: If you hover your mouse over the French text, the English translation should appear! (I've also added translations at the end for those on mobile.) On a side note, it's been a while since my high school French class, so I'm a bit rusty and had to rely on google translate for a few words. Feel free to let me know if there's a better/more appropriate translation!

Alex had pretty much exhausted all ties to John; after knocking on the apartment door and getting no reply, finding it locked and empty, his car also absent, he knew the only place left to check would be Lafayette's apartment. As much as he wants to talk to John, he's dreading the inevitable encounter with Lafayette; the last time they'd spoken was a few weeks ago, after John had caught wind of the situation, and he'd been thoroughly chewed out for hurting John so badly. In the end, the Schuylers wouldn't house him, and Lafayette and Hercules want nothing to do with him, so he'd had to settle for crashing at Thomas' place, who's been surprisingly kind given the circumstances and their usual rival-like relationship. Then again, he nor James take part in their friend group, so neither of them are close to John in any way; Alex would be lying to himself if he didn't also consider the possibility that Thomas might have taken him in just so he can joyfully gloat over his misery and his entirely self-induced predicament.

He texts Lafayette, not knowing if he should expect a reply, but receives a response in his inbox nonetheless: _'Oui, il est ici.'_ So, sometime after reading the text, he finds himself standing on Laf's doorstep, hesitant. Whoever answers the door, he knows this isn't going to be pleasant.

After a few minutes of standing on the front step, shifting from foot to foot both as a nervous tic and an attempt to keep his joints from stiffening too much in the cold weather, he finally works up the courage to knock on the door. Surprisingly, the front door swings inward almost immediately, and he doesn't have time to brace himself before Lafayette is standing in the doorway, dressed in sweatpants and a sweater that looks to have been haphazardly thrown on, looking rather pissed. They clear their throat as they lean against the door frame, arms crossed.

"What is it you want, Alexander?" they question in a thick French accent, foregoing any small talk.

Alex takes a deep breath, steadying himself. "I... uh... I just came to see John."

" _Et ç'est tout?_ " Laf raises an eyebrow skeptically. "You came just to see 'im? You do not wish for more?"

Alex looks down, not meeting Lafayette's eyes as he rubs his hands together. "I... I guess I came to talk to him, too." He attempts to peer behind Laf, their body blocking his view of the apartment. "Is he inside?" he asks warily.

" _Il est parti._ He is not here, _mon_... _Il n'est pas ici_ , Alex." They pause briefly at the Freudian slip, sighing at the term of endearment that almost slipped past their lips. They seem to age a few years in the seconds it takes them to respond. "You must 'ave just missed 'im go."

Alex's heart flutters in his throat. "H-he left? But you said he was visiting you, I just passed by his apartment not too long ago, I..." He pauses in his frantic questioning, realizes panic will get him nowhere, and instead takes a breath, issuing a simple, straightforward and yet tentative, "...Where is he?"

Lafayette looks down at their slipper-clad feet, heaving a sigh. "'E's maybe at 'is apartment. I do not know where 'e spends 'is free time."

Alex slowly lets out the breath he was holding. "Alright. Thanks, uh... thanks, Laf." He gets a cold, dismissive hand-waving gesture in return, and he turns around to leave, but barely gets down the first step before Lafayette interrupts.

"Before you go..." Alex stops in his tracks and turns around slowly, face-to-face with Lafayette again. He's hopeful for a sign of forgiveness, but their countenance is guarded, reticent.

"Do not go if you are just going to 'urt 'im again. The last thing 'e needs right now is more 'eartbreak."

A single puff of air escapes Alex's lips, visible in the chilly morning air. "...I wouldn't dream of it," he breathes softly, the words flowing from his mouth before he can think to stop himself.

Lafayette's expression hardens, turning cold. " _Oui_ , and yet you 'ad no qualms about doing so before 'e found out," they spit out.

The color drains from Alex's face.

"Laf, wait, I didn't mean to— that's not—"

" _Good day_ , Alexander." Their fingers curl around the edge of the door, and Alex flinches as the door slams shut abruptly in his face, leaving him alone in the cold again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Oui, il est ici_ : Yes, he is here  
>  _Et ç'est tout?_ : And that's all?  
>  _Il est parti_ : He left  
>  _Il n'est pas ici_ : He's not here  
>  _Oui_ : Yes


	3. I Want to Make This Okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter!
> 
> music I listened to while writing: [link](https://youtu.be/icgBviS1k6s), [link](https://youtu.be/ZAAvPDgKf30)

He doesn't linger long after Laf shuts the door on him; he wants to knock again, wanting to at least attempt to fix the conversation gone awry rather than leave with this bitter taste in his mouth, but his need to see John wins out over his better judgment. He doesn't want to hope, doesn't want to assume that things will go well with John (and lord knows he doesn't deserve it), but granted he's able to patch things up with John even a little bit, there will be time to talk to Laf later.

He walks the few blocks it takes to reach their— no, it's _John's_ apartment, he has to remind himself, rubbing his hands together in a desperate attempt to ward off frostbite as he trudges along. Finally arriving at the frosty steps, he ascends, pausing once he reaches the door. He hesitates, different scenarios of what can happen racing through his head, and he has half the mind to just about-face and walk back down the steps, letting John live his life without a toxic person like Alex in it. But he thinks about the time they've been together, thinks about the memories they've made together, how happy John had been, and he knows he has to at least try.

He raises a fist and knocks against the woodgrain door, three smart raps, then backs off a step. He hears the shuffling of feet as the occupant makes their way to the door, but it stops just short of the door opening. His stomach plummets, knowing that John knows it's him by now.

It seems like minutes pass before he hears the _clunk_ of the door unlocking and the gentle click as it's freed from the doorframe, swinging inward slowly. And there's John, standing in the doorway, head down, not meeting Alex's eyes.

Alex stands there for a while, wringing his hands, his gaze cast downward as well as he stumbles on what to say in his head, imagining a million scenarios in which this all could go horribly wrong. He doesn't want to intrude where he's not welcome, he doesn't want to make things worse, he knows by now that John won't accept a simple apology and just welcome him back into his life with open arms, and—

John clears his throat softly. "Well, I'm not just gonna leave the door open for all the heat to escape if you're not going to come in." His voice is rough, though from disuse or crying is anyone's guess. 

Alex looks up at John for the first time, and his heart aches at the sullen look on John's face. His eyes are red, as to be expected, and there are dark bags under his eyes. It looks like he hasn't washed his hair in at least a few days, and his baggy clothes hang from his frame. John looks up, too, taking in Alex's appearance for scarcely a second, but his gaze quickly snaps to the side again, as if the eye contact was fortuitous.

Alex is still staring at John when he steps to the side, allowing enough space for Alex to enter, gaze strictly trained on the floor. "I'm not going to stand here all day. If you're coming in, then come in," he mumbles.

This kickstarts Alex, who sidles in past John. He notes with a twinge of pain that John backs far enough away that they can't accidentally touch, far enough away that they don't brush up against each other, and it suddenly hits him that that's one of the things he's missed the most. He misses all the subtle touches and awkward moments and laughs they used to share; he misses the casual ways they used to show each other their love that, in some ways, meant so much more than romantic intimacy.

He makes his way hesitantly into the living room, John following from a distance. The kitchen is on his left, the coffee table and living area straight ahead, but he opts to stand instead, not quite knowing what to do with himself. The apartment is surprisingly immaculate; with John's outward appearance, he'd expected his living space to be a mess as well. As it stands, the only things out of place or missing are the pictures of John and Alex.

John skips any attempt at idle chatter before Alex has a chance to open his mouth, circling around into the kitchen and seemingly preoccupying himself.

"What are you doing here?"

Alex, dumbstruck but for a moment by the question, immediately jumps into speech. "Jack, I'm _so_ sorry, I'm sorry for _everything_ , I want to make things right again—"

John cuts him off, turning around to face him from across the counter. "I _said_ , _what_ are you doing here?"

Alex pauses, confused. "John..."

"What are you _FUCKING_ doing here, Alex?!" John yells, slamming his fists against the counter. "Why are you here? _Why_ are you _here?!_ "

Alex jumps, not anticipating the sudden movement or the surge in volume. "John, I'm sorry—"

"No, _stop_ fucking _saying_ that! I _know_ you don't mean it! I mean, _clearly_ you didn't mean all the other things you said before..." John trails off as tears reemerge, and he turns, his back to the counter again.

"I... John, I..." Despite himself, he finds himself moving around the corner and into the kitchen, reaching out for John, to touch him, to hold him, something, _anything_ ; but John flinches away, retreating from the kitchen, shaking his head, not stopping his backward movement until the backs of his legs bump against the couch.

"Stop," he says, making Alex freeze, and although his voice is cold, hard, firm, there's a twinge of pain that can still be heard. And when Alex looks up at him, _really_ looks at him, the tears in John's eyes and the pain in his crumpled expression sends a spear through his heart.

_And I did this._

"John—"

"Alex, _stop_." John's voice breaks at the end; he looks away, unable to meet Alex's eyes.

"I... I need time, Alex." He turns around, arms braced against the arm of the couch. "I don't know what to do with myself, I don't know what to _think_ of you, I still _love_ you and I _hate_ myself for it because I'm just opening myself up to pain again, and..." He pauses his incessant rambling, trying to gather himself. "And I don't know if this can be fixed, I don't know if things will ever go back to how they were, but I need _time_."

Alex wants more than anything to be able to touch John, to wrap his arms around him, to hold him and love him and comfort him, to make sure he never gets hurt by anything ever again, to tell him that everything will be okay. But he can't, because _he_ did this to John, _he's_ the cause of John's pain and sorrow, the source of his agony, and the last thing he wants to do is make it worse and hurt him more.

Instead, he lowers his still-outstretched hand, his breath catching in his throat. "Of... of course..." He tosses aside the twinge of hurt at John's rejection. _You cheated on him, you hurt him_ badly _, and you think your own feelings are anywhere near relevant or important? You're hardly the one who matters right now._

"John, if there's _anything_ I can do, i-if there's anything I can do for _you_ , anything at all to make this right..."

Something inside John breaks, and he whirls around to face Alex, eyes ablaze. "Do you know what you _can_ do? _Stop_ fucking _apologizing!_ You _cheated_ , Alex! You fucking _cheated!_ There's no taking that back, there's no rewinding time, you can't just pretend it didn't happen! You can't just apologize and stick a bandaid on this and expect everything to be okay again! There's no pretending you didn't run off with god _knows_ how many other girls or guys because _I couldn't satisfy you!_ You..." He pauses, swallowing, a lump caught in his throat. "...You..."

Alex catches the exact moment realization dawns on him, the way his face just goes... _blank_.

"I wasn't enough." And it _kills_ Alex to see the _**guilt**_ on John's face.

He sinks down onto the couch, burying his face in his hands, shaking. "I'm so stupid, 'Lex, to think that I could've been enough for you. I'm sorry."

 _Wait - John was apologizing to_ him _?_

He raises his head again, carding a hand through his tangled hair, tear tracks staining his cheeks. "I wasn't enough for you. I'm not enough, I wasn't enough, I was _never fucking enough_ for you. I don't know how I ever thought I _could_ be. I _loved_ you, 'Lex, you were _everything_ to me, but I wasn't enough." A bitter, humorless laugh escapes his mouth, cold and heartbreaking and empty. "Of course, I don't know why I'm so surprised. I'm fuckin' selfish. I've always been a disappointment; I've always been the poor, freaky gay kid who's too fucked up in the head to keep his head screwed on right." By now he's rambling, probably to himself. "I'm a disappointment to my father, I'm a disappointment to you, I'm a disappointment to myself, I hate you and I hate myself and I— I don't know what I was thinking. I don't deserve you. I'm sorry."

John's words feel like a punch to the gut. "John, no, _I'm_ the one who _cheated_ on you, i-if anything, it should be _me_ who doesn't deserve—"

John laughs again, high-pitched and desperate. "Right, you cheated, because I'm not enough! You cheated because what I had to offer wasn't _good_ enough for you!" He squeezes his eyes shut. "You cheated because you needed someone _better_ , you needed someone _new_ , someone _whole_ and not _broken_ and—"

"John, her husband is _abusing_ her!"

John's eyes shoot open, blinking a few times as his gaze shifts up toward Alex, looking disoriented, tears still trickling down his cheeks but anger, for the moment, at bay. The simple, yet loaded sentence seems to make time stop for a second, the silence hanging thick in the air.

Alex takes a breath and continues. "He's abusive. So, if you think I went to her because I needed someone better, then you're _wrong_. She has her baggage, her battle scars, just as you do, and that doesn't matter to me. That won't _ever_ matter to me." He takes a deep breath, briefly closing his eyes, and when he opens them again he looks directly at John.

"James used her. He made her sleep with me, insisted that I paid, and threatened that if I didn't he would come here and tell you, and... I didn't want you getting hurt like that, John. I was in deep, and I didn't want you getting hurt because of me."

John takes in the information for a second, processing. His expression morphs into something pained as he blinks in disbelief, a mirthless grin spreading across his face. "Oh, so you just kept doing it, then?"

Alex's stomach sinks, guilt weighing heavily on him. "John, no—"

"You're the one who slept with her in the _first_ place, Alex!" The sardonic smile quickly vanishes, his jeering cut short, replaced with anger and hurt as tears build up again.

"She _convinced_ me to, he _forced_ her to!"

John stands up from the couch, throwing his hands up in the air. "So you don't come here and be _honest_ with me? You instead _lie_ to me, sneak off _behind my back?_ How is that any _better_ , Alex? How do I know you didn't just come to enjoy it? How do I know you didn't just come to relish in an easy screw? Do you know how much it _hurts_ that I had to hear this from _Laf_ and not _you?_ "

"I didn't mean—"

"How am I to _trust_ you again, Alex?"

"I DON'T _KNOW!_ " Alex's voice breaks at the end, and he squeezes his eyes shut, struggling to even out his breathing. He doesn't meet John's eyes as he opens them again. "If I wasn't so selfish, I wouldn't have come back here in the first place. You don't deserve this. You don't deserve what I've done to you."

He looks up at John. "I don't know how to fix this, John. I don't know if it _can_ be fixed."

Now it's John's turn to look away. "I don't know either, Alex." His anger seems to melt from his body, making him just look tired and sad.

It's quiet for a few minutes, neither knowing what to say, neither knowing how to progress without driving the conversation further into the ground. Alex, for what feels like the first time in a long time, is rendered speechless.

It's another long few moments before Alex finally finds the words to speak up, his voice just louder than a whisper.

"So... what comes next?"

John shakes his head faintly. "I don't know, Alex. I don't know." He sits back down on the couch, sleeve dragging across his face to wipe away the tears, and it hurts somewhere deep in Alex's chest to see how _broken_ he looks, so old and tired, yet so impossibly young. He's hit again with the urge to hug John, to rub his back and comfort him, to sit with him and cry with him and will all the demons from his head.

He sits down next to John, moving slowly, painstakingly, reluctantly enough to give John the time to move away if he wants to. He doesn't know how to voice the words aloud, but he makes sure John sees him, makes sure John can back out if he needs to. He doesn't, and he tenses slightly as Alex wraps his arms around him, but relaxes into his body thereafter, staring down at the carpet, silent.

He's always been eager to learn more about John. He always wants to get into his head, is always wondering what's on John's mind, how he thinks and sees and feels. John's always been the opposite of him when it comes to expressing himself; he's unfailingly closed off and tight-lipped, careful not to spill too much at once, if at all. It's always intrigued Alex, but he never wanted to find out like _this_. He never wanted to hurt John, wishes he'd never _wanted_ to see this vulnerable side of him if it had to be like this. Not like _this_.

Alex uses a hand to comb through his hair, laying a gentle kiss to the crown of his head. He almost feels John flinch, but before he has time to retreat, John's grabbing onto his clothes, wrapping his arms around him and burying his face in Alex's chest. He feels his shirt growing damp and hugs John closer to him, squeezing slightly.

Through the blurring of his own eyes, he can see John shift, not to look up at him, but so he's not so tightly bound to Alex. He moves to shrug off Alex's arms, and Alex can't move fast enough, retracting his arms so that the only contact they have is what John's initiated himself. John moves to the other side of the couch, and he's trembling like a wet leaf, but it looks like he's making to say something so Alex stays quiet, trying to give him space.

"I... I can't, I..." John hesitates for a moment, as if trying to carefully pick his way through his words, like he's trying to navigate a maze; he has a bit of a faraway look, like he's not exactly present. Alex bites his tongue, biting back the urge to fill the silence, to speak for John, because this is John's moment to talk.

John cards a hand through his hair, seemingly struggling to voice his thoughts. "I don't know what's supposed to happen now." He risks a glance at Alex, averting his gaze after a second, sighing shakily into his hand. "Our relationship isn't... normal. And, I know that's an issue for another time, but it kinda makes this harder, I guess, and... I don't know if we'll be able to make it through this, but... i-if nothing else, if this doesn't work, I think I'd still like to..." He looks away, and seems to surprise himself at the next words he utters: "I don't want you leaving. I've gotten used to you being a part of my life, and... as much as this hurts, I don't know how eager I am to lose that."

Shock mutes Alex for a good ten seconds, but in no time at all he's speaking again, dull relief flooding his body, even as his heart aches at the thought of losing the intimate bond he'd had with John. "Jackie, that's _enough_ for me," he starts, emotions he doesn't know if he knows the names to swirling in his chest, and he doesn't linger on it long enough to find out. "God, I can't explain in words how much I want you, how much I want to go back to being _us_ , but if I can at least stand by your side, as your friend and nothing more, that'll be enough for me. It'll hurt, I can't deny it, but that would be enough. I don't want to lose you, John. It would _kill_ me to lose you."

John looks down, swallowing, his eyes glazed over slightly as he turns over the words, mulling over the confession. He takes a deep breath, then another, and another. When he finally looks up at Alex again, he doesn't make direct eye contact, but it's stable, steady.

"I... I can't promise that things will go back to how they were," he says. "I can't promise that I'll be able to forgive you. But... I think I might be willing to try." He pauses, hesitates, and Alex wishes for half a second that he owned the key to John's mind, even if for just a moment. "I'm willing to try, if you're willing to try, too, if you're willing to dedicate to... to this. To us."

Alex nearly shudders with relief again, and he has to physically bite his lip to keep from spilling his thoughts, sensing that rambling off on a tangent about how he fucked up and how he would do anything to make it up to him isn't what John wants. He wants an answer.

Instead, he takes a breath, swallows. Alex looks him in the eye, John finally truly meeting his gaze. God, how could he forget the beauty that is John?

"I am. I promise. I want to make this okay again," he breathes. And he means it. No lies, no deceit, no hiding.

John offers the smallest smile at him, and Alex can't help the subsequent grin he cracks in response, feeling like the dreary clouds have finally parted, leaving the sun shining down on him. For a second he almost loses himself, basking in the warm golden rays, spellbound, unable to tear his eyes from the rich hazel of John's eyes. There's still a lot of pain between them, they have a lot of work ahead of them, and it's feeble in comparison to his own, but John, for the first time in weeks, truly smiles, and takes his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Forgiveness, can you imagine?_
> 
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> (I'm sorry pls don't hurt me ;-;)
> 
> Anyway, there you have it! I want to thank everyone who has commented, bookmarked, or left kudos; any and all feedback is greatly appreciated! As a side note, I'm considering posting a bonus chapter from John's perspective that I've been working on, so let me know down in the comments if you'd like to see that! (In advance, I'd like to mention that there will be dark themes, and I will add more specific warnings if I do post it.) Otherwise, I hope y'all enjoyed!
> 
> link to my tumblr: [here](https://waterloggedroots.tumblr.com)


	4. jezebel / just give me a reason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I decided to post the bonus chapter from John's perspective after all, so here it is! Trigger warnings for mentioned/implied suicidal thoughts, thoughts of self-harm, a sense of foreshortened future, and just all-around bad headspace and messy thoughts/writing style. (Yes, the lowercase writing, confusing run-on/incomplete sentences, etc. are intentional.) I've updated the tags as well, so feel free to check those out, but please be careful and please don't read if you think you might be triggered by these things! Otherwise, I hope everyone else reading enjoys this extra piece ^^
> 
> songs and music i listened to while writing: [link](http://linkbun.ch/06xrb)

he can't believe it when he first hears it. the information filters through his head, in one ear and out the other, and his mind scrambles around desperately, struggling to pick up the words before the drift away completely. his mouth is dry, refusing to work properly, the very orbit of the earth seems to screech to a halt, and it's all he can do to utter a single, broken, disbelieving, "what?"

lafayette is standing before him, worry clear on their face, hercules to their side with his own look of pity, and their mouth is clearly moving, but no words are reaching his ears, his mind can't seem to translate the sounds. he can tell by the sudden shift of laf's expression that they know what's going to happen before john himself does, and suddenly his feet are moving, and before long he's running, sprinting toward the little coffee shop, stopping before the glass windows, and... there he is. there _she_ is, giving him a peck on the lips before she walks out of the shop. there alex is, watching her go, looking troubled, gaze not falling from her figure, not until he notices the other figure in the window. his eyes land on john, and he watched his eyes widen, watches as alex's expression morphs to shock, to guilt, and it's _nothing_ compared to the sickening roiling in his own gut.

he's torn between actions. he wants to run, he wants to put as much distance between himself and alex as he can. he wants to burst into the coffee shop, he wants to hit alex, he wants to cry, he wants to ask him _why_. he wants to crumple into a heap on the sidewalk, right where he's standing, and just let himself go. he wants the ground to swallow him up, to make him disappear so he doesn't have to process the situation. he wants to pretend like none of this is happening.

as it is, he finds himself standing in the coffee shop, next to alex, who has slowly stood up from his seat, and for once in his life he's silent. the expression on alex's face is unreadable through all the emotions rapidly flickering over his face, his own eyesight blurring and making it all the harder to see. he hears the crack ring through the air more than he feels the sting on his palm as alex's face snaps to the side, a red spot rapidly blooming on his cheek.

alex's words are almost completely drowned out by the tempest in his head. he doesn't even hear the words he flings back at alex, and before his mind can catch up with everything that's happened, he's turned tail and is running out of the coffee shop, out into the snow again. alex's words echo in his head, a chorus of meaningless words thrown in his face as alex tried desperately to backtrack.

_"john, please, i-it's not what you think, i can explain! i didn't mean to, i-i didn't mean it, please, just... just hear me out, i—_ john _!"_

alex is racing after him now, he knows it, he can hear the crunching of snow and the labored breathing, but he can feel it, too. he knows how alex gets, he knows how determined he is once he sets his eye on something. he _knows_ alex.

well. he _thought_ he knew alex. but that alex, the one in the coffee shop, the one kissing that girl's lips—that can't be _his_ alex. his alex would never do something like that. at least, he didn't think so, not before today.

he eventually stops. eventually lets alex catch up with him. he can't stop the tears from falling, and his heart wants nothing more than to fall into alex's arms and cry, despite everything that's happened, seeking comfort from the very person who hurt him, because he's the one who knows john the best. and he knows if he stands here much longer he might just give in to the urge, but he _can't_. he can't let that happen. he can't give alex that opportunity to hurt him again, he can't give in that easily. more than alex deserves the separation, he knows he needs the space to breathe, to think, to process. he feels those walls coming back up, rebuilding around his heart, the same ones that alex had spent so long meticulously trying to break down, brick by brick.

but alex, _god_ , why can't he just leave john alone? they stand there arguing for what feels like hours, years, _centuries_ , and _still_ he won't give. he doesn't stop, even as john tries to clib into his car, to run away, to escape, to give himself the space to breathe and cry and break down sobbing like he wants to now, but he can't do that in front of alex. he spits out whatever insult comes to mind, knowing he shouldn't, knowing there's a good chance he'll regret it later, but needing to get away too desperately to bother putting a filter on his mouth. he doesn't even know what words escape, but the glimpse he sees of alex's face before he turns around speaks enough. he takes the opportunity to climb into his car and start the engine before alex can get another word in, before alex can stop him and convince him to stay, because the last thing he wants to do is give alex the satisfaction, to teach him that, no matter the crime, a few well-chosen words can have john running back to his side again.

he feels the dam buckling, crumbling the whole drive home, feels the tears pricking his eyes, through every stoplight and stop sign, all the way to the front door as he shoves the key into the lock. he doesn't allow himself to break, makes sure the door is closed and locked behind him.

he makes it three steps into his apartment, and he can't take it anymore. his keys land somewhere on the far side of the living room, hears the shattering of glass, pictures of him and alex torn from the walls and tables, papers and other objects scattering in his path. his knees hit the floor, and he's tearing through his wallet, emptying it of everything, scrabbling to get rid of everything tying himself to alex. and someone is screaming, and it takes him awhile to realize the heartbroken sobs he hears are coming from his own throat, that it's his own voice crying out in pain.

everything around him is a painful reminder of the man he loved, the man whom he trusted with almost every part of himself, the man who was his everything, the man he thought loved him back. he sinks into a ball, hugging his arms around himself, heartbreak and agony clawing its way through his body, tearing through his ribcage and lodging itself in his chest. his life was far from perfect, but he and alex were making it work, were learning how to rely on each other when they needed support, instead of bottling it up like john always used to. living with alex was leaving behind a lifestyle in which he refrained from looking too far into the future because he didn't know how far he'd make it, didn't think he _would_ make it; living with alex was leaving all that behind because he knew that with alex, he _could_ make it. now, that same world with alex, the world he'd come to know, the world he'd finally learned to live in, is falling apart around him, everything's tumbling underwater, and he doesn't know if he'll ever learn how to breathe again.

* * *

he knows it's alex as soon as he hears the knock. he knows it's him as he shuffles toward the door, knows it's him before he even puts his eye to the peephole. he'd left laf's apartment not too long ago, and laf had texted him only about twenty minutes ago, a simple message that read " _il est en route, mon cher ami_ ", another arriving a second later that said " _ç'est alex_ ", and a third saying " _ç'est d'accord si tu n'es pas prêt, tu n'as pas à le laisser entrer_ ". he doesn't understand french like alex does, having grown up with the language in the west indies, but he's picked up enough from him and laf to be able to piece together the texts, gets the gist of the message. _alex is coming. it's okay, you don't have to let him in._ and, now, he's here. this is his solid proof, this is alex.

and he _wants_ to ignore it. he does, he really does, he wants to with every fiber of his being. he wants to open the door and tell alex to fuck off, he wants to slam the door in his face, he wants to leave alex in the snow. but he knows he can't. alex is here, at his door, standing on his front step. through the peephole john can see he's rubbing his fingers together to keep warm; he has poor circulation, he'd told john once, and his hands are perpetually cold as a result.

he wants to say no, but he can't.

he stands for far too long in front of the door, just standing there, his traitorous fingers reaching for the lock, even as he longs to pull away, to walk away, to leave.

it's another long few moments before he actually acts, unlocking the door and pulling it open. he doesn't look up, doesn't allow himself to look up, _can't_ look up.

another age passes, john standing just inside, alex outside on the doormat, wringing his hands in silence. he doesn't need to look up to know alex isn't trying to meet his eyes either; he'd feel the burn of his gaze if he were, he'd feel the emotion flooding from alex's eyes, because he's always been the more expressive of the two. john is a brick wall, a locked vault of carefully guarded secrets, but alex wears his heart on his sleeve, he is an open book in so many different ways, open in so many ways that john can't possibly fathom or imagine himself being. he's learned from experience, from day one, that his past, his thoughts, his emotions, his vulnerabilities, his insecurities, are all better kept secret. and alex, alex has proven to him that putting his trust in someone will only end in pain. alex has proven to him that he can't be hurt if he never opens up.

alex is still just standing there, and the heat is probably seeping from the apartment out into the cold, bringing the cold air in, so he clears his throat and speaks up. and alex looks up, and john looks up too, immediately regretting the action. his gaze is quick to dart to the side again, looking anywhere but at alex, but the damage is done. he sees the pity in alex's eyes (that he hates), he sees the hurt, the guilt, the misery, the heartbreak, and he knows alex is too raw and passionate and open to don an emotion he doesn't genuinely feel, and he has to stop himself from telling alex right then and there _i forgive you_. because he can't forgive alex, not after what he did. not after how he hurt john, and, oh, he hurt john _badly_.

alex is _still_ frozen on his doorstep, staring at john, seemingly frozen to the spot. john repeats himself, and that seems to kickstart alex into doing something. he steps inside the apartment tentatively, and john's careful to move out of the way, careful not to let their skin touch, probably backing away farther than necessary, and he can see out of the corner of his eye by the shift in alex's expression that the action doesn't go unnoticed.

maybe this was a bad idea. it's only been a few weeks, he's been managing ~~fine~~ on his own, and inviting alex in just seems to bring back fresh pain. the minute he'd been able to pick himself up off the floor, to clean up the mess he'd made of his apartment, he'd gone into the master bedroom and tore the sheets from the mattress, throwing them into the wash. he'd briefly considered burning them, tossing them in a dumpster and lighting it on fire, but ultimately decided he couldn't afford the luxury. he'd settled for running them through several wash cycles, even opting to use new detergent rather than using the old cleaner they had in the apartment, probably wearing out the fabric in the immoderate process, and he doesn't actually know if alex had ever brought anyone home, but the action is comforting and at that moment in time he'd needed all the comfort he could get. not that having laf and herc texting him and taking him out and just sitting with him, hoping that something they were doing was helping, didn't make him feel at least a little better, like he has people in this world he can still trust a little bit, even if those relationships don't come marginally close to the bond he'd had with alex. but cleansing the apartment, clearing out anything that could remind him of what had been, felt cathartic. like he was taking back his life, it felt like a big _fuck you alex, i don't need you_. it felt good, and he forced himself not to linger on whether it was actually true or not.

he was doing okay before alex came, but alex is talking again, bringing up all the emotions he'd kept carefully tamped down over the weeks, and he can't imagine how he _ever_ thought this would be a good idea.

what is he doing here? what is he doing here in john's apartment, why is he here, _why_ is he _here_ , how did _either_ of them think this was a good idea, why is he here why is he here _why is he here?!_

he brings his fists down on the kitchen counter, screaming the words at alex. alex seems fazed for only a moment, and then he's talking again, reaching out to try and touch john, and god, why can't he just _shut up?!_

he's apologizing now, and it's getting harder and harder to keep collected, calm, distant. he feels the tears bubbling up and the anger is coming up right alongside it, how in the _world_ did alex think he'd get away with this? and now he's trying to worm his way back into john's heart, like he hadn't just smashed it into a million pieces a few weeks prior.

alex reaches out again, he's coming into the kitchen but john ducks away, backpedaling until he feels the arm of the couch against his back.

stop, stop, stop it, just _stop_.

he turns away, gripping the arm of the couch, rambling out loud as he tries to make alex understand, trying to drill it into his thick skull that john needs _time_. god, he hates how the word seems hopeful and predestined, like forgiveness is inexorable, inevitable, like if alex just keeps hanging in there he'll get what he wants. but it's true— he may forgive alex, and he may never want to see him again, but he needs the time to process.

and alex has the _gall_ to try and offer support, like he isn't in the wrong, like he isn't the one who caused this.

john snaps. he screams himself hoarse, screams until his lungs are begging for air, screams because _why couldn't he satisfy alex?_ why wasn't he...

oh, god.

this is _his_ fault.

he wasn't _enough_.

he wasn't enough. he wasn't enough for alex, _god_ , and he kept _clinging_ to alex, he _loves_ alex, and he was too selfish to see that he wasn't going to cut it, that alex needed more, that he needed someone normal, someone not fucked up in the head like he is. he was too selfish to see that alex deserves better. he was too selfish to see that he was sabotaging himself, setting himself up for disappointment, for pain, for heartbreak, and he was hurting alex in the process.

he's afraid to speak, afraid of spilling too much at once, afraid that if he says even one thing, if he opens his mouth for one word, one sentence, the rest will just keep coming, the rest will pour out like a surging river, like a waterfall cascading into a plunge basin, coursing out to sea in a never-ending flow of water. he's scared of letting a word slip out and the ground falling out from beneath him, scared of opening the valve even a crack and losing control. he's scared of opening up, and yet he's afraid of how much more he can take before it's too much.

he sinks down on the couch, and his hands are shaking, and then against his will everything is spilling out, all the guilt and self-hatred and pain he'd been holding in.

alex stops him. and, maybe alex is right. alex _is_ the one who cheated, alex is still the one in the wrong, but it still circles back to john not being enough. it still circled back to alex needing something more, someone better, someone...

...he can't say he expects her backstory. but, why does that matter? alex is talking about her like john isn't even _there_ , like there's not a knife twisting itself deeper and deeper into his heart whenever word of this _girl_ comes out of alex's mouth, _his_ alex's mouth, because alex is supposed to be _his_ and he's supposed to be alex's, he's supposed to be the _only_ person alex thinks about, but it's getting harder and harder to believe that alex _gets_ that when he keeps going on and on and on about her, even if it's just to prove a point. okay, so she isn't the perfect woman john would expect alex to run off with, so she was in a tough spot and needed help. (and, it makes him wonder if broken is just alex's type, if he's only attracted to john because he's just another fixer-upper job for alex to spend his time on.) but, regardless, whatever he claims his intentions to be, who in their right mind would think that what alex did was acceptable? alex _knew_ what he was doing was wrong, but he still kept going it, trying valiantly to play the hero when, in reality, he was the villain all along. maybe he was a victim of circumstance, but he slept with her in the first place, he made the conscious decision to cheat, and it's just the luck of the draw that he was blackmailed in the process.

he's standing up again, screaming at alex again, and he just can't wrap his head around how alex could think that what he did was okay. a one-night-stand, bad enough as it is, can at least be credited to a lack of judgment, but to keep going back, to keep _lying_ to john, and, god, the fact that _he_ never even _told_ john, that john had to get it from _lafayette_ , another bystander... to think that he probably would have kept it up if john hadn't found out, he would have just kept lying to john behind his back, he would have just kept pretending everything was alright, but can't alex see the _trust_ that he _broke?_

for the first time, alex snaps. and, maybe it's a little nice to see that alex _does_ regret it, that he _does_ know what he did was fucked up. maybe it's a little nice to hear that maybe, just _maybe_ , alex might need him just as much as he needs alex. and that shouldn't change anything, no, it _doesn't_ change anything, it doesn't change the fact that _he cheated_ , but john can feel himself deflating all the same, can feel the anger melting away, leaving a hollow spot in his chest.

after that, it's silent. and, when alex next speaks up, it's to ask _what comes next?_ he doesn't know what alex expects him to say, if he'd known how to solve this he would have done so ages ago, he wants more than _anything_ for this whole mess to be over, for none of it to have even happened in the first place. his exhausted response does nothing to relieve the tension in the room, to soothe the aching in his bones, he's barely even managing to keep the tears at bay and he doesn't know if he'll be able to stand looking at alex, doesn't know if he'll be able to look up and see his face, to see the man who hurt him so badly. and, some of that pain must be showing on his face, because alex sits down next to him, moving in to hug him, moving slowly, tentatively, as if skating on thin ice, every move precise and calculated, attentive to any signs of discomfort or revocation of consent, his movements gradual enough to give john the chance to back out.

he doesn't. his rigid body betrays him as alex's arms wrap around his shoulders, and he's torn between accepting the embrace and shoving him away and taking off running but at least his eyes will listen to him as he points his gaze downward, staring blankly at a liquid stain on the rug, trying not to think.

everywhere alex touches itches and burns, makes him think of all the other people he could have been touching behind john's back, but he can't move. he feels numb, like he's frozen in place, like time itself has slowed to a stop and it's just him and alex, alex and him, alex and—

he'd gotten a name out of laf. _maria_. who knows if there were others, but the fact that there's a name at all makes it real. it makes him want to vomit. it makes him want to scream at alex more, makes him want to kick and bite and scratch like a cornered animal, makes him want to dig his nails into his arms and tear at his own skin until he sees red.

but, all the same, he relishes in the comfort, sags into alex's arms like he's lost all motor control, like he hasn't slept in a week. he hates himself for it, he hates alex _so much_ right now, but he also knows he loves alex too much to give up on him forever. they're so reliant on each other for survival and enjoyment and happiness and it's unhealthy, he knows it is, everyone around them always tells him so, but he can't help it. he figures it's better than the alternative, anyway, his other option, the inevitable path he'd been headed toward and would have probably eventually taken, had alex not come into his life.

he feels alex's fingers in his hair, feels the kiss lain atop his head, and he can't help the reflexive flinch. his brain recollects how he'd rushed for the bathroom the day he'd found out, torn between emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl or reaching into the medicine cabinet for the— he can't stop the swirling thoughts, _he kissed another with those lips and now he's kissing you, it's disgusting and it's a betrayal and you'll never be enough for him, you'll never be enough for anyone and you should—_

alex, bless alex, he must have picked up on john's body language and thinks he's revoked his consent, and it feels good that alex would do that, that alex would pull away if he voiced even the slightest discontent, without even a second thought about himself, without even the slightest utterance concerning his own desires. he stops alex from trying to move away, clutches him tightly, grabbing onto anything that can anchor himself to alex. as much as he hates alex for what he did, he needs him.

 _i need him_. it should feel wrong, it _does_ feel wrong as he turns it over again and again and again in his head, but it's how he feels. he can admit that much.

after everything that's befallen, it's really no surprise that he's crying now, crying into alex's chest, alex squeezing him tighter at that, and maybe he's imagining the teardrops on his back, but it's comforting nonetheless. it shows regret.

he wants to forgive alex, to go back to how things were before all this, to just forget it happened and move on. and yet his thoughts unfailingly return, reminding him of all that's transpired over the past weeks, reminds him _exactly_ who's comforting him right now. his skin itches again, the urge returns, stronger this time, and suddenly he can't get out of alex's arms fast enough, and alex is thankfully quick to retreat, letting go of him completely, relinquishing any hold over him. he scoots over to the other side of the couch, and his hands are shaking again, he's trembling uncontrollably despite his best efforts, but not as violently as before. he takes a minute to breathe, wiping his sleeve across his face, before trying to speak.

he doesn't know how to move forward. he wants more than anything to go back to how things were before, to go back to being blissfully unaware, back to before alex made the first move that caused all of this.

he surprises himself when he asks to at least remain friends, even if the shattered bond between them can never be mended.

alex's mouth opens, and words are suddenly spilling out like an overflowing sink, this time not of unending apologies or empty promises, and john can only imagine how much faster his brain must be whirring, if he can manage to fit so many words into a single minute and still seem like he has a thousand more to go. but none of them, not a single one, begs for or demands forgiveness or pushes john in any way. and it's almost a relief, like a weight has been lifted, like he can stop wondering _what if he's just going to do it again_ and _how can he do this to me_ and _why am i never good enough for anyone_ and _why am i still alive_ , and start thinking _what comes after this?_ it still hurts so much to think of what alex did, he knows that if forgiveness happens at all it won't be anytime soon. he needs time to rebuild himself, to pick himself back up from the brink, to try and put himself together again, try to function on his own again, to find a way to function at all.

he wants alex's commitment. he wants to know that alex wants this, too, that he wants to try, that he'll put in the effort, dedicate himself to them and only them. no distractions, no lies, no secrets, no more bottling things up. alex looks like all the breath has left his body, like john is his whole world, when he says softly, _i promise._

ever since he found alex in the coffee shop with that other girl, it feels like his life has suddenly been turned on its head, the ground beneath him breaking away and swiftly and unexpectedly plunging him into freezing water, unable to save himself, somehow missing every lifeline thrown his way, watching as the glimmering surface drifts farther and farther away, the icy water chilling and numbing him to the bone, and he wonders if he would have drowned if it had taken much longer to gain feeling in his limbs again, in his head, to gain the willpower to fight again. he finds that, as he sits with alex in silence, that maybe the lifeboat hasn't yet come along, he's nowhere near being out of danger yet, but his head has finally broken the surface, and past the wheezing and spluttering as he coughs up the bitter seawater filling his lungs, past the hand in his, he's finally able to take his first breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _il est en route, mon cher ami_ : he is on his way, my dear friend  
>  _ç'est alex_ : it's alex  
>  _ç'est d'accord si tu n'es pas prêt, tu n'as pas à me laisser entrer_ : it's okay if you're not ready, you don't have to let him in
> 
> link to my tumblr again: [here](https://waterloggedroots.tumblr.com)


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